


stacked odds

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Consent, Drinking Games, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Study abroad au, Underage Drinking, also hermione moved to america lol, and is now an influential member of the government, and present, as is draco malfoy, at an american college bc that's all i know, harry potter is still famous, it's very important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The fraternity basement that Rose dragged Scorpius into is sticky and disgusting and way, way, way too warm. And also contains Harry Potter's gorgeous son. And a drinking game with those infernal ping pong balls.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108





	stacked odds

**Author's Note:**

> tw for alcohol and drinking games. consent is Very important and nobody gets out of control.

The moment Scorpius sees him, he recognizes him. Who wouldn’t know the son of Harry Potter? The guy who convinced the government to change some of its policies on climate change and poverty as a literal seventeen year old? Who survived multiple assassination attempts as a kid? And then went on to become one of the best football players the nation has ever seen? Who is probably gearing up to be a member of Parliament? That man is insane. Everyone knows who he is. 

It doesn’t help that this kid is the literal spitting image of him. Same dark hair, same bright eyes, same stature. His face is a little sharper around the edges, his mouth more stern, but they look identical.

Of course, recognizing him and believing that he really is Harry Potter’s son are two different things. It would take a miracle for a British celebrity’s kid to end up in the same cramped fraternity basement at a college in New England in the middle of nowhere. Seriously, the closest Starbucks was almost ten miles away. You can’t get more remote than here. 

Funny, isn’t it, that two British kids ended up in New England? That’s a good joke, he should remember that.

“You’re Harry Potter’s kid,” he blurts. The other guy turns to face him immediately. His slight frown becomes more of a disturbed nose wrinkle.

The Potter kid takes two steps towards him and grabs his wrist. Speaking in a low voice, he says, “Want to grab a drink with me?” It’s phrased as a question, but the way the other boy is tightening his grip and digging in his fingernails and it’s becoming somewhat painful. 

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Scorpius says. The other boy lets out one short bark of a laugh, as though it’s pulled out of him by force. He doesn’t let go of his wrist as he drags him towards the drink table in another room.

Scorpius helps himself to a lemonade with the tiniest bit of vodka splashed in. Lemonade is not a good mixer, but it tastes delicious, so he uses it anyway. The other boy watches him, casting glances over his shoulder towards the entryway. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, saying that so loudly?” he says, his voice flat. Scorpius doesn’t respond immediately because he’s coming to a realization. He was, up until now, unaware that Harry Potter is very, very, very hot. Or that his son is very, very, very hot. He’s definitely setting some of his cognitive functioning on fire because not a single thought is forming at the moment. 

The other boy keeps talking. “Most people don’t know who my dad is over here, but I’m sure a handful do and they’re such a nightmare to deal with. I don’t want to put up with paparazzi on my study abroad. Got that?”

“I’m sorry, I really am, I just get so excited and I blurt.” Scorpius says, flapping his hands about because no one ever taught him what to do with them while speaking to a very attractive guy. Actually, no one ever taught him what to do with them, full stop. His friends back home called him ‘Windmill Boy.’ “Rose tells me I have to work on it.”

The other boy’s stony face breaks as his lips quirk up for the barest hint of a moment. He returns to his thunderous (and attractive) expression (get a grip on yourself, Scorpius, what the actual fuck is wrong with you, you’ve had maybe a sip of vodka). “Rose?”

“You know, Rose Weasley. Everyone knows who she is.” Scorpius takes a deep, steadying breath. Maybe if he looks at the ceiling he can have a conversation with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. The ceiling looks as though it has mold festering in the corner. It is not a good view. A better view is a little southward… He shakes his head in a desperate attempt to snap himself out of it. “Also, what’s your name? You’re Scorpius. Er. No, I’m Scorpius. You’re… not Harry Potter’s son. I’m not supposed to say that.” 

“You’re quite drunk, aren’t you?”

“Am not,” Scorpius says, wrinkling his nose. Hasn’t this boy ever had someone be so wildly attracted to them that they get tongue-tied? There’s no way this hasn’t happened before. The guy must be the most oblivious person on the planet. “This is my first drink. Answer my question, please.” 

“Call me Al. Also, Rose is my cousin.” There’s a pause as Al lets out a little snort of a laugh. “You looking to shag someone with status? You sure know how to find ‘em. Me, Rose, who knows who else…” 

“Excuse me? I would never!” Scorpius squeaked. Oh, God, was he really that transparent? He needs to tone it down. And anyway, he doesn’t want to shag Al because of his father… though his father did give him these fantastic genes… He needs to be doused in a bucket of cold water. “Rose is… a Rose is a Rose.” He clears his throat when Al doesn’t give the characteristic liberal-arts chuckle that he was so used to receiving from these American kids. “She’s also a woman, so.”

The other boy nods before letting out a noise of recognition. “Oh, yeah. Me too.” He does the little hand symbol that Scorpius has seen a lot of the kids doing in his Socratic discussions - he extends the thumb and pinky of his right hand and shook it back and forth. 

His heart soars momentarily. Then, deciding not to make assumptions, he asks, “You’re gay too?”

Al rolls his eyes, but his initial harshness has evaporated entirely. “Yes. Need me to get some Scrabble tiles and spell it out for you?”

Scorpius sniffs and elects to ignore the comment. “Anyway, I can’t be a gold digger, I don’t even know what her parents do.”

If possible, the other boy’s eyebrows would have shot off of his face with the speed at which he raised them. “So you know who my dad is, but you go to school in the United States and don’t know the bloody Speaker of the House? Nevermind Scorpius, I’m going to call you Patrick Star. Goddamn.” Al turns to a girl who was swaying on her feet. He plucks the Solo cup out of her hand and shouts, “Hey, who’s the Speaker of the House?”

“Hermione Granger,” she slurs. “Everyone knows that.” Al points at her excitedly before pulling her aside and speaking in a low tone. Scorpius hears her say, “Don’t worry, Sally’s just in the bathroom and she’ll walk me home any minute, ‘preciate it,” before Al strides back up to him.

They stand there awkwardly for a moment. Scorpius examines the lights strobing on the walls, absently touching his fingers to the patterns. He saw a disco ball at one party and is secretly hoping that this frat house is planning on whipping it out later as a surprise. “What brought you to the States?”

Al shrugs for a moment. He looks into the depths of a cup that was abandoned on a table before saying, “I’m sure you can guess.”

“Anonymity. Yeah, I know that one.” The other boy’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. Scorpius grins and turns towards him, letting his fingers drag against the wall. “When your dad used to be a member of a terrorist group, you tend to get recognized.” After a moment, he adds, “And called names, but honestly, I got used to all the snake jokes after a while. There’s only so many original ones you can make.”

Scorpius is fairly certain that Al’s eyebrows are orbiting the planet, considering the rate at which he raises and lowers them. “Your dad was a fucking Death Eater? Man, and I thought I had it rough.” Sympathetically, he claps Scorpius on the shoulder. His shoulder is now forty thousand degrees.

These basements tend to get scorchingly hot and dripping with condensation, but it definitely isn’t just the heat of the other bodies doing this to him. Nope, it’s one other body. One other body that is directly related to a body that used to despise his father. Don’t think about it, Scorpius. Maybe Mr. Potter will let bygones be bygones if he proves himself as a good boyfriend. 

Okay, his imagination is starting to run a little out of control. He needs to concentrate on something else.

“Sorry for being so snippy with you, but I’m sure you understand. Famous dads come with not so lovely publicity. Let’s have a do-over, shall we? I’m Al Potter and my dad likes to watch golf, for reasons entirely beyond me.”

Scorpius grins and shakes the other boy’s hand. “I’m Scorpius Malfoy and my dad is addicted to fashion magazines.” 

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re, you know, not too bad.” Al coughs into his hand. “Looking, either. You’re… not too bad looking. And not too bad. I’m going to grab some water,” he says weakly before turning away and filling his cup. Scorpius blinks rapidly, searching for words and discovering that he no longer knows any. 

“SCORPIUS!” Rose shouts from the other room. Scorpius has never been happier to have her enter a room to offer a distraction. She barrels into the kitchen a little too eagerly and stumbles into him. “Oh, I see you’ve met my charming cousin! Al, I’m surprised you didn’t bite poor Scorp’s head off!”

“Tried to,” Scorpius says under his breath. The other boy hears this and smiles. Smiles! Scorpius feels himself slipping away from reality further. Should he put a stand mixer on their wedding registry? It’s simply too much for his poor heart and he’s already had a little to drink (barely, that doesn’t account for how badly you want to kiss this boy) and he can’t help it. He just can’t. 

“He recognized me, the bastard.” And a joke to top it off! If it were socially acceptable, he would swoon into the other boy’s arms.

“Of course he did, he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.” A warmth blooms in his chest at Rose’s words. She speaks more freely while inebriated. The compliment is refreshing; usually she was all snark and sass. 

“Really? I thought you were the smartest person you’ve ever met.” Seems like her cousin was her equal with good comebacks. Rose’s jaw drops and she pushes at Al, sending him a few paces backwards. 

“Literally go die in a hole,” she says, a mock scowl darkening her features only for a millisecond. “Anyway, they’re starting a round of Rage Cage and they want you to run it, Al. And I want Scorpius to play. See you in there!” She scampers away, yelling out to someone that Scorpius didn’t recognize.

“Have you tried your hand at any American drinking games yet?” Al’s smile is getting wider and he nudges him in the side. Is that even possible, for the other boy to smile like that? Or legal? It should be illegal. Scorpius’ heart is on its way to qualifying for the next Olympics. It’ll steal the gold in gymnastics.

“I did cup pong with water once,” Scorpius admits, nearly forgetting the question thanks to the oppressive humidity of this basement and the dazzling smile of the Potter son. “It was very difficult.” He imagines that a game with this large of a distraction nearby will not fare any better.

“Stand next to me. I’m a good teacher.” They amble into the proper part of the basement, where everyone is crowded around a plastic table. When they enter, everyone starts cheering Al’s name. Rose is laughing her head off not too far away, a drink in her hand. American college students really do love their alcohol. 

Someone is filling up dozens of plastic red cups with small amounts of beer. Another person is putting them onto the table to form what looks to be concentric circles. Al pulls Scorpius close to him and says, “There’s two cups that are being passed to the left all the time. If you have a cup, you’re trying to bounce the ping pong ball into it. If the person to your right manages to get a ball into their cup and you still have a cup in front of you, you get stacked.”

The rules are already overwhelming. “Stacked?”

“They put your cup into yours. You pass that to your left, take a drink from the middle, drink it, and then try to bounce the ball again. If you manage to get the ball into your cup on the first try, you can pass it to whoever you want. That rule makes it easy to gang up on weaker players.” He laughs. “Also, if your ball lands in a cup with beer in it, you have to drink that, too. Don’t worry, though. Everyone’s got your back.”

Those words did not feel as comforting as they probably should’ve. Scorpius, still feeling very confused and very nervous, nods. Being in this close proximity to a boy that belonged in Teen Vogue is not helping his heart palpitations. Or his shaky fingers. Or his ability to think straight. Haha, as if he’s ever been able to do that. 

The cups start on opposite sides of the table. Al has one, as does another dark-haired boy. Everyone chants, “Three, two, one, GO!” Al immediately bounces the ball into the cup and sends it to the girl standing beside the other boy. He struggles for a moment before passing his cup and the game is on. Scorpius’ heart is in his throat. He feels panicky as the cups slowly make their way to him.

When Al passes him a cup and a ball with a wink, he loses all sense of how a ball works and bounces it far too hard. It lands in one of the drinking cups. Al winces and passes him both the ball and the cup. “I got you one with not too much, but if you want, I can drink it.”

“No, no,” Scorpius says, feeling a flush creep up his neck. Does he really look like that much of a lightweight? “It’s okay.” He drinks it as fast as he can so he won’t taste anything. Beer is vile. He goes back to his mission of bouncing this infuriating ping pong ball.

Al is watching him. When he’s handed a cup, he pauses for a moment before making a face and sinking the ball. As slowly as he can, he moves the cup closer and closer to Scorpius and tries to give him extra time before stacking him. There’s no point; Scorpius is quickly discovering that he is absolutely useless at this game. It’s very fun, but not designed for his skill set. He sighs and grabs a cup that contains barely a sip before going back to the game.

The other boy offers him pointers under his breath and re-directs the cup away from him once or twice. When Scorpius finally sinks it, he cheers and gives him a half-hug. The room’s heat is now approaching dangerous temperatures.

The next time Al stacks him, Scorpius reaches for a cup but the other boy plucks it from his hand and downs it himself. When he finishes, he offers a huge smile before effortlessly bouncing Scorpius’ ball into the stack cup that is growing in height at an alarming rate and sending it far, far away.

“You don’t need to be drinking my drinks for me,” Scorpius says in an undertone, though honestly, he’s so glad he doesn’t need to swallow any more of the disgusting stuff. It makes his stomach rollick about uncomfortably. He’s satisfied with how tipsy he is (which is hardly, thank goodness, he doesn’t adore feeling out of control) and would’ve tapped out of the game by now if it weren’t for Al. 

Al shrugs nonchalantly. “My tolerance is through the fucking roof. And I want to keep you in the game, so. You know.” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck, his freckles standing out on his red cheeks. “Oh, look, here comes a cup!”

They return to furiously bouncing ping pong balls. Scorpius only gets stacked twice more and Al takes both drinks for him. 

Finally, the only cup that remains is the completely full one in the center. People start crowding around the table and yelling, “Bitch cup! Bitch cup! Bitch cup!” Thankfully, the action is happening nowhere near the two of them, so Scorpius can take a big breath and relax. The stack up is now nearly twenty cups tall and is leaning dangerously to one side. 

Someone loses and the final stacking is glorious. A blonde girl grabs the bitch cup and chugs it. Everyone starts singing the school’s fight song and, as she takes her last sip, pumps their first and screams, “Go, Dogs!” before letting out an ear-splitting howl. 

“These American schools are actually insane,” Scorpius hisses under his breath. Al nods his head. “Also, ping pong balls are the worst kind of balls.”

The other boy’s flush darkens even more. He wipes his hand over his face. “You know most places aren’t like this one? There are some schools that are even crazier.” 

“Sheesh, imagine that.” Scorpius feels Al’s side lean into his. “Are you okay? Have you had too much?”

“No, I’ve only had like, two or three beers, total. I didn’t drink at all before the game. Would’ve been sober if it weren’t for you.” There’s a glimmer in Al’s eyes as he bumps into Scorpius’ hip.

“Sorry, I thought I told you I wasn’t too great at these sorts of things. I’m good at some things, I promise.” They start to drift away from the center of the room towards a quieter corner. Al is staring at him intently as he speaks. It’s almost overwhelming. It makes him want to duck his head. And push the other boy against the wall and kiss him until his brain melts.

“You’ll have to tell me all about them sometime.” Scorpius’ head snaps up, his eyes widening. Al is chewing on his lip.

“What does that mean?”

“Um.” Al takes a step closer. Scorpius mirrors the movement without even thinking about it. “Er, well, we’re at an American party, right? Let’s do as they do, eh? That’s a Canadian accent, I’m sorry. I, like you and drinking games, am not very good at… this.” He gestures vaguely around his torso area. 

Scorpius reaches a very shaky hand up to the other boy’s jaw and brushes his thumb against his lower lip slowly. Al lets out a squeak and tilts his face down to look him in the eyes. Tentatively, Al loops his arms around Scorpius’ waist, one hand planted on his lower back. 

“Do you actually want to be doing this?” Al whispers into his ear.

“I would like to do this very, very, very much. If this means making out in this disgusting frat basement and then talking about all the boring stuff tomorrow at the library coffee shop. Is that a good plan?” Scorpius puts his other hand on Al’s cheek and again thumbs at the other boy’s lower lip. 

“Sounds good to me,” the other boy says, bringing his mouth to Scorpius’. He sighs and melts into the moment, barely hearing Rose’s enthusiastic catcalls. 

He tastes like beer (gross) and heaven (not gross at all). Scorpius never, ever, ever thought in a million years that those two things would be found at the same time. It seems like this evening is full of surprises. Al kisses him almost too gently and he has to wrap his arms around his neck and bring him in even closer.

When they separate, Al looks at him with a gaze that can only be described as analytical. "Was that okay?" he asks in a soft voice. 

Scorpius nods. Al tightens his grip around his waist and rubs a hand up and down his back. Scorpius pulls the other boy's face down once more with a devilish grin and says, "Fancy some more of that?"

"Please." Al is very happy to oblige.


End file.
